


lestappentrash97

by scarletred



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Charles has a massive freak out, Embarrassment, I wouldn't call it a crack fic but maybe it is?? idk, M/M, Pining, Secret Crush, a mess from start to finish, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletred/pseuds/scarletred
Summary: Max finds a very interesting website.Charles panics.Everything is alright in the end.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Comments: 18
Kudos: 133





	lestappentrash97

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd write about these two, but one day they showed up and disrupted my studies. Let the records show that I was dragged into this kicking and screaming.  
In all seriousness: I don't know what this thing is. I'm not too happy about it, but it felt wrong not to let it find its way into the world.

The sun is setting down to close an overall satisfying weekend: after a rocky start they somehow managed to improve the setup of his car enough to snatch the third position from one of the Red Bull guys. The very one that seems to be approaching him with a big smile, one hand clutching his phone and the other patting the backs of the people greeting him as he makes his way through the paddock.

Don’t stare. Don’t be a weirdo. Don’t smile like a lunatic. Act normal. He’s not coming here to talk to you anyway. C’mon Charles, you can do it.

To his surprise Max actually stops right next to him and it takes a lot of his self-control not to combust the second their shoulders accidentally knock together. Because that was an accident, right? He didn’t do it on purpose. Okay, maybe he did. He’s pathetic. Shut up.

“Oh my God, _mate_, you have to see this!!”

His nose scrunches up in automatic at the way Max calls him, he can’t help it. It makes him want to cringe. And cry. But Charles won’t cry, he’s a grown-up for goodness’s sake. Or at least _he’s trying_ to be one. Cut him some slack, _please_, he’s doing his best.

There are so many four-letter words he would prefer like _dear_, _love_... dumb. That’s what he is, ‘cause he’s doing it again. You’re a fool, Charles. It’s never going to happen. Never. Accept it and move on.

The 6'' screen Max almost shoves in his face is struggling to adjust to the sunlight, but as soon as it lights up properly Charles sees red. Not metaphorically. Not because he suddenly finds interesting staring at his own shoes. Okay, _yes_, that too. But... _fuck_. He feels sick. Max’s loud and roaring laughter isn’t helping one bit.

“There’s this website, _right_? Where people write stories about us F1 drivers. They write _fanfiction_, I mean.”

_That word_ coming out of Max’s mouth sounds wrong. The way he says _that word_ sounds wrong and twisted.

Like it’s a forbidden thing.

Like it’s an unforgivable sin.

Maybe it is.

Charles is pretty sure the whole paddock just heard him swallow. Can they hear his rapidly increasing heartbeat too? Can Max hear it? He must, Charles can barely hear his own thoughts because of it. He _must_ hear it too.

He tries to keep his act together.

Look surprised but not too much otherwise it’s obvious you’re faking it.

Smile and nod at the same time so he’ll keep talking.

Oh God, he’s definitely going to throw up, isn’t he?

“That’s actually quite cool. I mean... I respect that. It’s kinda flattering too. People waxing poetry about my jawline”

It’s me. I am _people_.

“and the exact shade of my eyes”

No words do it justice. Trust me, I’ve tried.

“and all that.”

He clears his throat and just like that his trademark smirk is back. That fucking smirk. The one that’s been haunting Charles’s dreams for longer than he would like to admit out loud. The one that screams _I’m better than you ‘cause I know something that you don’t_.

Charles hates that damn tilt of his lips. He wants to rip it off Max’s face with his teeth. All rage, no grace, and a tiny bit of tongue. Okay, fine. A_ lot_ of tongue.

He hates his rival so much he wants to literally suck the life out of him. And then he’d be forced to put his first-aid training to use. It’s what _any_ responsible person would do, _right_? Charles is nothing but responsible. A good egg. Or so they say.

_Jesus Christ_, man, get a grip. Focus.

“Here’s the funny thing...”

Oh God, he’s laughing already.

Good Lord, please, I know I’m not a good person, but _please _don’t make me die at the hands of my _work colleague_ slash _sworn enemy_ slash _future husband in every single daydream I’ve had in the past two years_.

He is pathetic. He is so pathetic it’s disgusting. Ew, Charles, just _ew_.

“There’s this account, _no_?”

He’s laughing so much he can’t even speak.

Charles is going to _die_. Right here right now. The boy who could’ve been world champion one day if he hadn’t died of embarrassment in front of his crush. They’ll put a plaque saying just that.

_Here died Charles Leclerc, hopeless romantic, mess of a human being._

_Don’t be like him._

(He hopes they choose a nice font.)

People from all over the world will come and bring flowers and notes and candles. Some will come just to have a laugh at how stupid he was. Some will pray to him, their proclaimed patron saint of unrequited love.

Oh c’mon. He’s not going to die _die_. His dignity however... eh, it’s safe to say that ship has sailed a long time ago. May she rest in peace. You’re certainly missed around here.

As Charles is coming out of the billionth breakdown of the day Max is still laughing, cheeks red and are those... are those _tears_? Awesome.

“There’s this account that’s like _obsessed_ with me.”

Oh no. Charles thought he only found.... (the website) but he also found... (the _profile_)

_Oh no_.

**Oh no**.

He suddenly doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“And they keep writing about the two of us. Like _we’re dating_ or something! Isn’t that ridiculous?”

He’s dead. He’s dead. He must be. He hopes he is.

_He isn’t_.

Oh, how he wishes he could suddenly learn how to freeze time. Or disappear. Or both.

Rationally Charles knows there’s no way Max _knows_. But Charles doesn’t do rational. He never did and he isn’t going to start today.

He’s pretty sure this is the kind of shit they invented Google for.

Wikihow to react at your crush’s discovery of the fanfiction account you run about the two of you without revealing

  1. that it is indeed _your_ fanfiction account
  2. that you’re hopelessly in love with said crush

God, he’s a mess. Not even Google could help with that.

“Yeah, man” he deadpans. “Fucking hilarious, haha.”

Max’s raucous laughter comes to a halt and gets replaced by a frown.

_Oh no, Charles_.

“Are you...” he clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

It’s fight or flight now, he knows. And in this scenario he’s definitely a lover, not a fighter.

“Yeah, ‘m just tired. I have to go. Bye” he throws out as he starts to walk away.

Don’t run. Act natural. Nothing happened and you’re totally not freaking out.

Fuck, _he is_.

He must look like an addict going into withdrawal, all jumpy and crazed-eyed.

He hears footsteps behind him and he quickly turns around.

“Why are you following me?” he barks.

“You’re upset.”

Funny how he said it like he meant it.

Charles snorts.

“Since when do you care?”

He’s met with silence. Max is staring at something behind him. Not at him, _never _at him.

“Yeah, right. You don’t. Leave me alone. _Please_.”

He says that last word like it’s a lost battle, like the desperate man he is.

Max moves to place a hand on his shoulder and he can’t help but flinch and bat it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Please do. _Please do_. Please...

Realisation dawns on Max’s face.

Charles is 100% screwed and not in the way he would like.

“_Oh my God_, are you...”

He would be proud of making Max Verstappen stutter if he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack. His ears are ringing and he should run away, but his feet are stuck and it’s unlikely that the ground will swallow him anytime soon.

Max is not dumb. Charles knows this, he just hoped it would take him longer to figure out that Charles is gay and in love with him. God, he hopes the next look on his face is not one of disgust.

It is. _Fucking hell_. Just kill him already, kill him and end his sufferings.

He can feel the tears starting to form in his eyes. He won’t cry, he won’t cry, he won’t

“Are you _a homophobe_?” Max half mutters half spits out.

Wait, **what?**

Okay, it turns out... Max Verstappen is _really fucking dumb_. God bless him.

“**What?! NO!!**” he squeals.

Max scratches his neck in embarrassment and looks at him like he’s trying to find some sort of explanation on Charles’s face. He can feel his cheeks heating up under his scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m... I don’t understand.”

Eh, me too, you ain’t special.

“Why would I...” Charles sounds offended. Probably because he is. Duh.

“I told you about... and you freaked out... then you snapped at me when I touched you... it made sense” but it sounds like a question.

He looks so confused Charles almost feels pity for him.

What’s worse? Confessing your feelings and your embarrassing _hobby_ to your crush or having said crush think you’re physically repelled by the idea of you two together? Charles may be a coward, but this would be too much, even for him. He might as well take his chances.

“Please don’t push me off track next week, my mum would pass out and I’d feel bad for eternity. If you want to kill me, just hire someone to shoot me or whatever.”

“Why would I...”

Charles shushes him with a flick of his wrist.

He’d feel guilty if that confused expression were to stay etched onto Max’s features permanently. Charles is not an art expert, but he thinks it would suit a marble sculpture more. Marble is too cold and lifeless for Max. He’s more like... he’s more like wax. _Oh boi_. A Max Verstappen’s wax figure at Madame Tussauds. Charles would visit it every year in pilgrimage and-

Focus. C’mon Charles.

It’s lights out. The moment of truth.

Take a big breath. Everything changes now.

“I freaked out because I’m gay and I really like you and I write fanfiction during my spare time.”

He rushes through the syllables before he can chicken out, then winces and closes his eyes.

It sounded so much better in his head. Did it, though?

Maybe Max will walk away and they can both pretend the last ten minutes never happened. Yeah, maybe they can just ignore it and move on. His heart won’t, but he’ll take what he can get.

An amused little laugh snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Me too.”

When Charles opens his eyes he’s met with piercing blue eyes, a shy smile and _red cheeks_?

Max is _blushing_?

And then his brain catches up fully.

“Do you write too? Wow, this is so...”

_Unexpected_ is what he means to say, but he stops right there because Max is shaking his head and if possible his cheeks are even redder than before.

“No, _silly_. I meant that I like you too” he half whispers.

His voice curls around every single edge and the air feels and looks softer somehow.

Oh.

_Oh._

Wait.

This can’t be true.

Things like this don’t just _happen_ to people.

Especially not to him, Charles Leclerc, king of being delusional and embarrassing and...

Max Verstappen _likes_ him?

_No way_.

He furiously looks around to check for cameras or any suspicious movements.

This has Daniel’s name written all over it.

He’s the only one who knows.

Charles may be sweet and fragile-looking but that’s not going to stop him from gutting Daniel the second he sees him. What’s a little blood on a red polo anyway? He needs, no, he _deserves_ better friends. Pierre would never...

“How much did he pay you?”

“Who? No one _paid_ me?” he chokes out, seemingly unable to follow Charles’s train of thought.

Charles drives fast, but his mind runs faster than a light beam could ever do.

“Charles, are you okay? You look paler than usual.”

“I... You...” his throat is tight and his vision is blurry and he’s crying.

Oh God. They pulled the cruellest of pranks on him and he fell right into the trap. And now he’s crying in front of his _rival _slash _arch-nemesis_ slash _least favourite person to have his heart broken by_. What a mess.

His eyes are stinging, his head is pounding, it hurts to swallow like it only does after shouting for two hours straight at a concert. Except there’s nothing happy or fun here.

It hurts so much.

It hurts so much.

It’s too much.

Everything fades into black.

When he comes to it everything is red and _no, wait._

Not _everything_ is red.

He’s lying on the couch in his room and someone clad in dark clothing is holding him and whispering comforting nothings in his ear.

From the slightly rough French he can tell it’s probably Max.

Memories flash into the back of his eyelids and he moves to sit up before it hits him.

_Max is holding him_.

He may possibly sort of want to die. Not really but... yeah.

It wasn’t a prank.

God, he feels so stupid.

May his fervid imagination be damned.

Max must realise Charles is somewhat having coherent thoughts again so he gently cradles his face to properly look at him. Concern clearly painted on his features.

“How are you feeling? You scared the shit out of me back there. I thought you were dying on me or something.”

How does he feel?

Worn out.

Embarrassed.

Warm.

Safe.

Happy.

He smiles.

“I’m better now, sorry. Didn’t mean to...”

freak out on you?

cry all over your t-shirt?

give your gorgeous face stress-induced wrinkles?

He doesn’t even know so he leaves it at that.

Max smiles so softly Charles feels all funny inside. He can’t believe that this boy, this handsome, fierce, caring boy likes the poor excuse of a human being he is.

Charles is _soooooo_ lucky.

“So you like me, uh? For real?” he feels (and sounds) so dumb.

He wants to smack his own face, but Max is holding his hands.

Max is holding his hands.

_Max _is holding _his hands_.

Are we sure he’s not actually dead?

Max nods answering his previous question, then thinks better of it and adds something.

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever end up writing sappy stories about you and me but...”

Charles groans and his cheeks start burning once again.

Max is smirking so he decides to break free of his hold and swat him in the chest pretending to be angry, but they both know there’s no real heat behind the gesture. He probably looks like an upset kitten too. God, he never stood a chance, did he?

“How do you write so much anyway? On racing weekends too!”

Max looks genuinely impressed and Charles starts grinning because he knows exactly what to answer.

“What do you think I keep scribbling on my notebook?”

**Author's Note:**

> Charles's inner monologue is a mess because my inner monologue is a mess. Are we surprised? Of course not.  
The title is supposed to be the username this Charles uses on ao3, I don't think there's an actual account that owns it but yeah, whatever.  
Let me know what you think!


End file.
